


Bird Set Free

by hylander



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bipolar Disorder, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Non-Graphic Violence, data analyst lucas, eliott would die for a volcano, lots of wedding talk, lucas is worried, photographer eliott, they're engaged surprise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22021081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hylander/pseuds/hylander
Summary: “I thought I was gonna pass out. Like ‘if he says no I’m gonna die’.”Eliott gives a soft smile. “How could I ever say no. I never wanted to marry anyone as much as I want to marry you.”OR. Lucas proposed to Eliott a year after meeting him in Bali, and things don't go quite as expected.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Comments: 33
Kudos: 56





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this work will be updated on a weekly basis and is currently being edited.  
> as usual, kudos and comments are everything, and thank you for reading 🤗💕 
> 
> (❄💕💖)

“What are you doing up so early?”

He throws a quick glance above his shoulder, where Lucas is shielding his sleepy eyes from the morning light. He steps onto the balcony, a pair of boxers on that, Eliott notices, is his only effort to avoid public indecency.

“I was just thinking about maybe going out to snap some shots,” Eliott says with a small smile. He focuses his attention back on the hotel pool, a couple of floors down.

It’s only half a lie. Not quite. _Almost_. It doesn’t count, he decides.

Their trip in Denpasar, Bali is nearing its end and every morning brings out new colors he feels the need to catch with his camera. Everything seems so colorful here, so stunningly different from Paris. The tender green coats sprawled on mountains, the pristine white sands and the lush green paddy fields… If Eliott has ever considered himself a worthy photographer, this is the barest minimum he can do to live up to his own expectations.

Lucas hums approvingly in answer, and Eliott hears him pad closer. Every centimeter disappearing between them makes the pain in his chest worsen, and it’s become nearly unbearable long before Lucas’ arms even snaked their way around his waist. It’s a small gesture that usually gets his heart to swell and his entire body to relax — and so he tries to do just that, if only because Lucas knows him too well not to notice. He leans into the touch, Lucas tightening his embrace around him. The sleep-warm skin of his chest gently presses against Eliott’s back, through the material of the tee-shirt he threw on. Can Lucas feel it? That fucking knot between his shoulder blades? He fucking hopes he doesn’t.

“Earth to Eliott,” Lucas singsongs. His voice comes out teasing and muffled, stretching his name playfully.

Eliott swallows hard, trying to sound casual and relaxed. “Sorry, what?”

He swears Lucas grins, even if he doesn’t see him. He can feel his face splitting into a smile against his back, and it’s usually such an endearing sight that he nearly feels bad about missing it. Problem is, his hands are gripping the railing of the balcony, and he doesn’t think he can move, doesn’t think he can take them away, no matter if he knows he should. Lucas will realize eventually that his knuckles are turning white, and he will ask _why_ and Eliott won’t know what to answer. He can’t just say that it’s grounding him, he can’t just say that the world is fucking spinning and that he feels like he’s constantly suffocating.

“It’s a lot quieter when the guys aren’t here,” Lucas says, blissfully unaware, probably repeating the words he hasn’t caught the first time around.

He restrains himself from pinching his own arm in an attempt to focus the fuck on him — on his voice, and his touch, and the warmth of his body. It shouldn’t be so hard. _It shouldn’t be_. As if Lucas is trying his best too to make his presence more noticeable, his left hand travels flat up Eliott’s chest, and Eliott reaches up to entwines their fingers mechanically.

His brain takes a moment to catch up. 

_Right_. The guys. Yeah. It’s not like he can possibly forget them, he’s just a bit out of it. Difficult to forget that in less than forty-eight hours they will be back in Paris, in their overcrowded apartment. He’s come to appreciate living with them, even when they’re loud, even when they’re obnoxious, even when they can’t catch a break — there’s always a silver lining to it, and it’s that they make Lucas happy.

“To be fair, if it weren’t for Basile, we might have never met,” Eliott points out, trying to get behind Lucas’ mood.

Lucas groans. “This is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.” It makes Eliott smile at last. Not as brightly as he does usually, but he counts on Lucas being still a little sleepy for it to be believable. Lucas nuzzles a little against his back, extra-cuddly as he always is in the morning, before resting his chin against his shoulder.

“I can’t believe it’s been a year already,” he lets out quietly.

It’s like it all happened in a blink.

365 days ago, give or take ten days, Lucas was just a beautiful stranger waiting in line for one of these jungle swing attractions that Bali is so fond of. He would lie if he said he had spotted him among the other tourists right away. Truth is, he was mostly too focused on trying to reach a quiet spot to snap a few pictures from the forest, all green and inviting, to really pay attention to other people walking around him.

It was only when he had heard someone complaining and whining that he had begun paying attention to a group of three boys, hunched above a fourth one busy emptying the content of his stomach at the feet of a palm tree nearby.

“We told you _fifty times_ not to stuff your face before going here,” one of them had exclaimed, visibly irritated.

It was the first time he had heard Lucas talk, ever.

Eliott doesn’t quite remember what Lucas was wearing, he just vaguely recalls a black snapback he had put back in place right after Eliott had first glanced in his direction, a glimpse of sun-kissed skin peeking out from his tee-shirt and sunglasses that he had the bright idea to push up his head, if only for a minute. He still can’t believe how much he would have missed out, if he hadn’t been able to see Lucas’ beautiful eyes that day.

“Me neither,” Lucas admits, sounding a little dreamy.

He loosens his embrace around Eliott, tugging at their entwined fingers for him to turn back. Eliott takes a quiet breath and forces himself to let go of the railing. For a fleeting moment he feels almost at peace, just enough to return the smile on Lucas’ face. They stay quiet for a moment, lost into each other’s eyes, but soon Lucas starts caressing the silver ring on Eliott’s finger with his thumb — and suddenly his world turns freezing again.

“Baz will kill me when he finds out though. He called dibs on the first wedding the day Daphné agreed to go on a date with him,” Lucas adds with a small chuckle.

“It’s not a race,” he counters, weakly, fighting the taste of ashes that took over his mouth.

It’s always when people decide that things are worth a race that the world goes to shit, he wants to scream — but he doesn’t. He keeps it all in like he always does, now more than ever. _That’s what your life is going to be from now on._ He feels sick just at the thought of it.

Lucas pulls a face, a little smug. “In Basile’s books it might be.” _Bullshit_. That’s what he’s about to say, but he doesn’t get the time before Lucas admits: “I never thought-” He pauses and his smile falters a little, eyes falling to the side as he shakes his head. “Never mind it’s stupid.”

“No,” Eliott protests, tugging at their entwined fingers. “Tell me.” 

“It’s stupid, really. I’m sure I already said something so cheesy before anyway,” Lucas shrugs.

He’s not that detached whenever they talk about them, it’s always the façade he’s building in an attempt to deflect. Sometimes Lucas prides himself in being a good liar, but he’s just so terrible at it that it gets endearing. Eliott releases their fingers and instead reaches out to gently nudge Lucas’ chin in his direction. “Baby, tell me. Please.”

Lucas looks up, finally meeting his eyes. He makes a face, obviously attempting to laugh it off, but he only manages to give a lopsided smile that doesn’t seem quite as convincing as he’d like to. “I just never thought I’d find someone like you.”

And there it is again. The stabbing pain in his chest. He could swear it gets worse every time. It offers such a contrast with the softness of Lucas’ tone, barely any louder than a whisper, and with the quietness of the moment, and with the state he should _most definitely_ find himself in. “Lucas Lallemant, I swear to God,” he says. “How can you believe in parallel universes but never that every single ‘you’ will find someone like me?”

Lucas huffs a laugh, shaking his head. There’s a strand of his hair threatening to fall into his eye, and mechanically Eliott reaches to brush it away. His hand winds up on his cheek afterward and Lucas nuzzles into his palm, dropping a kiss there. “You’ve got no idea how nervous I was last night,” he says, voice wavering a little, and the bashful smile of the early days seems back all over again. “I thought I was gonna pass out. Like ‘if he says _no_ I’m gonna die’.”

Eliott gives a soft smile, trying to ignore the growing lump in his throat. “Don’t be like that, how could I ever say no? I’ve never wanted to marry anyone as much as I want to marry you.”

“Good.” He laughs, warm and genuine, and Eliott lets himself get crowded against the railing. “Because that’s what we’re gonna do.”

Lucas wraps his arms around his shoulders and pulls him a little forward for a kiss. It’s so natural, the way Eliott’s arms wind up around Lucas’ frame, the way their mouths move against each other, it’s so natural that for a moment he forgets everything.

_You’re everything to me_ , he wants to say, but he’s not sure he can right now, and so he puts everything he has into this — into the way he holds Lucas against him, into that kiss. He sometimes forgets that he wasn’t just born the day he met Lucas, on that trip to Bali a year ago. When they break the kiss, he buries his nose in Lucas’ neck.

_How could I never say no_.

Being with him, if only for a year, has been the best thing that has ever happened to him. How could he not want an eternity of this? Of messy hair and ocean blue eyes and hearty laughs? Of pouty lips and burning embraces, of loud friends and stolen hoodies, of late-night talks and mid-sex banter? If he had to pick a year, any of the 27 years he’s been on this planet, it would be this one spent with him.

_Yes_ , he had said the night before, the moment Lucas had dropped down on one knee with hopeful eyes and a nervous smile. _Yes, I want to marry you._

If only he could.


	2. Chapter 2

“I can’t believe it’s happening for real,” Basile complains, dejectedly waiting for Arthur to hand him over the tape dispenser. “Our little Lulu, leaving the nest.”

Lucas exchanges a glance with Arthur, from his spot next to their flat-screen where he’s busy flicking through their collection of videogames. He’s enrolled the boys to help him move out on this fine Saturday morning, but so far it’s been mostly him and Arthur packing what he hasn’t had the time to pack yet, and Basile-

Well, Basile occasionally heaving a sigh every now and then.

And complaining. A lot. 

“Baz, I’m moving out, not dying,” he huffs with a snort.

What _he_ can’t believe is that _Basile_ of all people would suddenly get emotional over even the slightest thing reminding him of Lucas moving out. Which is a little unfortunate, considering Lucas has been collecting empty cardboard boxes for a few weeks now, and today’s date has been circled in red ink on the calendar, on the door of the fridge, for about as long. He and Eliott have been on a quest to find a new place to start their life together for roughly four months now, it’s not really like any of it is catching them off-guard.

“Can you stop acting like you’re his mother before I lose my mind,” Arthur mutters, shaking his head with an eye-roll as he sententiously closes a cardboard box. Then he adds under his breath: “Assuming I haven’t already from all the shit you say, that is.”

Even Arthur has his limits, and apparently Basile sending kicked puppy glances to the calendar every morning as they all crowd in before work for coffee _is_ his limit. Honestly, Lucas can’t blame him. He expected the guys to start tearing each other apart to get his soon-to-be former bedroom, for that 1m² it has over their own, but as it turns out Baz seems a lot more preoccupied with him leaving at all.

“It’s practically the same.” Basile retorts. He struggles for a few seconds with the tape dispenser, then manages to hold the cardboard box in his lap long enough to tape it all haphazardly, before handing it back to Arthur. “I’m just saying, it won’t be the same without you here.”

Lucas sighs and crouches down to shove a handful of videogames in the empty box in front of him. “I’m getting _married_ , dumbass.” Basile shoots him an offended glance and Lucas smirks in response, shrugging a little. “I’m not going to stick around with you forever when I have an amazing husband waiting for me to start a new life with him.”

It’s not exactly that Basile being emotional makes _him_ emotional, but like, he didn’t expect him to be so soft, and Lucas already has a reputation for crying fairly often. He doesn’t _need_ to give the guys any more reason to tease him about it — so biting banter it is.

“You’re not married yet, Mr. Smartass,” Arthur snorts, finishing to tape his box. He puts it down and grabs a marker pen from the coffee-table to scribble ‘books Lucas’ on it, before discarding it to the side. “Big, big words coming from someone so short.”

“And we can still make you regret that before Yann comes back,” Basile threatens haughtily.

Lucas pushes the videogames box in their direction with his foot, before kneeling down. “You would have to explain that to my _fiancé_ , then,” he retorts, holding out his hand for one of them to give him the dispenser.

“Anddd here we go again,” Arthur scorns. Lucas gives him a quizzical look and Arthur answers with a wave, after tossing the tape his way. “‘My fiancé this’, ‘my fiancé that’, you’re no better than this one, just admit it,” he says, gesturing at Basile.

“What did I do now?”

“Baz, let me get this clear for you. We literally made up a drinking game with how many times you say the name ‘Daphné’ in a single sentence,” Lucas fills in, and now that he thinks about it, he should be a lot more offended by Arthur’s remark. Once that one has sunk in, he flips his friend off.

“Yeah, we were aiming for a shot every time you mention her in a conversation,” Arthur confirms, openly ignoring him, “but we nearly got alcohol poisoning, so we narrowed it down to sentences.”

Basile squints. “You did not.”

The front door swinging open drives their attention away for a moment. Yann walks in, the keys of the Renault Trafic they rented for the occasion jingling in his hand. “What’s the deal here?”, he enquires, glancing around the living-room as he closes the door.

“We told Baz about the Daphné Drinking Game,” Arthur supplies.

“More like, the Daphné Diving Game,” Yann snickers. “What was the record again?”

“31 times in twelve minutes.”

“I don’t care,” Basile scoffs. “I have a girlfriend and you don’t.”

“The whole world knows about that one,” Yann mutters.

Lucas frowns. “What girlfriend?” He turns to Arthur, pointedly cocking his head to the side in faux-surprise. “I never heard of a girlfriend, ever. Did you?”

“You’re just jealous,” Basile retorts.

Arthur stares at him sternly, marker pen in one hand. “And that’s supposed to make me feel sorry because…?”

Lucas throws a glance at Yann, who sits down on the armrest of the nearest armchair. “Remind me again why I asked them for help?”

“I believe you said it would ‘go faster’,” he replies, miming the quotation marks.

Lucas scrunches up his nose, tuning out Arthur and Basile’s bickering for a minute as he tries to determine whether or not he bought FIFA 18 himself. It’s not like it’s a big deal anyway, he shrugs as he shoves it back in the box. They’ll be whining about the missing games regardless, no matter if the ones that are missing are his or theirs. He’s been packing so much in the course of the last three days that he’s starting to mix everything up — and who knew there were so many _stuff_? Every time he closes a box he realizes he’s forgotten something. Which is kind of tricky, you know, when you’re not only packing your stuff, but your fiancé’s too. The last couple of days have felt like a hurricane, between overseeing the delivery of some pieces of furniture, running to a different furniture store to grab others, all the goddamn paperwork for their new address, and, of course, not forgetting Eliott’s stuff in the process. And, you know what? It was fucking _hard_. Packing all of his hoodies and clothes and like, _stuff_ , it feels a lot like getting your heart ripped out from your chest — but, of course, when he complained about it, he was told by the boys that he was ‘being dramatic’ and ‘cheesy’ and ‘pathetic’.

(So much for friendship, really.)

“Did you manage to find a parking spot?”, Lucas asks, still ignoring Arthur and Basile who, as always, are still bickering but have moved onto a totally different topic of conversation.

“Yup,” Yann replies, making the ‘p’ pop. “In front of the Yamaha store, could be worse.” He glances around, before pointing at the boxes piled up in the tiny space that is the hallway splitting the four bedrooms on two sides. “Are these ready? I could start making a few trips to the car.”

Lucas looks up, mentally reviewing everything. “Yeah, it’s all good,” he says with a nod.

*

“Everything okay?”

They’ve been sitting side by side in silence for a few minutes and Lucas _needs_ to ask. He isn’t sure he felt uncomfortable around his best friend ever since he has stopped hiding his sexuality in high school, yet, the silence that sits, kind of heavy, between them makes him feel guilty for some reason.

Yann glances at him, after pulling the car to a stop at a traffic light. “What? Why?” he frowns in genuine confusion.

It helps Lucas relax a little, and eventually he shrugs, a bit awkwardly. “I don’t know. You’ve been kinda quiet for a while.”

“Do you really want me to start weeping like Basile?” Yann asks bluntly, raising his eyebrows with a pointed glance.

“Jeez, no. One’s enough,” he huffs, shaking his head.

They’re waiting in silence until the traffic light goes green, and for a moment Lucas absently watches a few pedestrians walking up and down the street. It’s a regular September morning, and even for a Saturday the street is rather crowded. It leaves Lucas to wonder about those few hours he rarely gets to see. Working on the other side of Paris implies that he has to wake up before dawn if he wants to be there in time for 9, as his contract stipulates, and like most people who wake up at dawn every single day, he’s learned to treasure his Saturday mornings spent catching up on his forever disturbed sleeping schedule.

He glances again at Yann with a wry smile as the car progresses down the street. “How much do you bet that when we get back Basile is a dead corpse lying on the floor?”

“Let’s be clear,” Yann says, “I’m not cleaning a murder for you. I love you but there’s a limit.”

“You’d be covering for _Arthur_. Not for me.”

“Fuck,” Yann groans, “that sounds like a very depressing way to sum up the next few years to come.”

“Don’t go all Basile on me, you were doing great so far,” Lucas waves.

“Hey, Lallemant, let me remind you that between us two, I’m the one who’s supposed to be crying at my Lulu leaving the nest. But do you see me crying? No.” He turns right, steering-wheel sliding easily between his hands. “Besides, you’ll be just a couple of blocks away. Nothing huge. We’re still going to hang out, and play some FIFA, and make up shitty excuses to get drunk and stuff. It doesn’t have to be sad or anything.”

Lucas feels a smile showing up on his lips, despite a small lump in his throat. Fuck he really wishes Eliott would be here too. It’d make it less difficult and he would have someone to laugh it all off without getting the impression that he’s leaving for the battlefield any day now.

 _Focus on the positive stuff._ After all things are finally starting to look up.

Although, yeah, alright, they did have a tiny setback halfway into the summer.

See, Eliott has been living on the outskirts of Compiègne for a few years, in a cute two-story house, but he had told Lucas since the beginning that he had been thinking about moving back to Paris for a while, and now was as good a time as any.

“Meeting you was just the final kick I needed to actually sell,” he had shrugged with an easy smile.

And, honestly, how could Lucas not just _melt_ at this? He’d dare anyone on this stupid planet to resist Eliott’s smile. Particularly when he just ends up messing Lucas’ hair and reaching out for a kiss.

Of course, it would have been easier for everyone involved if Eliott’s house had been sold right away, but coming from a broken home and all, Lucas’ expectations were very low on the matter — after his parents’ divorce, his dad had been trying to sell their house for at least a year, and for all Lucas knows it was a very decent house with a very decent price in the Paris region. Last summer, before they flew to Bali, Eliott had met with potential buyers — a couple with a baby on the way, literally the whole catch. They had seemed pretty interested, only for them to drop it not quite a month later after at least two more visits.

But to be honest, it hardly matters, in the end. It’s just a mere inconvenience. The upside is that, having lived long enough in an apartment where rent is split in four, he’s managed to spare some money that will definitely come in handy now, until Eliott manages to get rid of the house.

“Eliott has already taken my spot for a while now, I’m not worried,” Yann shrugs casually, almost as though he had followed his train of thoughts — which is probably not that hard.

“That’s not true,” Lucas protests.

His best friend gives him a face. “C’mon, Lucas. I’m not mad!” he says, chuckling a little even. “You’re getting _married_ , of course Eliott has stolen the front seat! To be honest I’d be worried if he hadn’t. Otherwise, if you can’t share one brain cell with him and do stupid shit, and talk about everything that goes on in that head of yours, and God knows how much there is, then it’s not worth the shot, right?”

“You’d make an amazing priest,” Lucas huffs, trying to keep his voice (and the remnants of a reputation he once had) in check. “Ever thought about changing your long-term career plan?”

Yann starts laughing. “Nah. Someone needs to keep fighting the endless cycle of consumerism and capitalism.”

“Yeah, sure. Keep saying that to yourself,” Lucas snickers, and Yann gives him a little shove.

“That being said, since you guys getting married kinda rules out the religious ceremony, I’d be happy to officiate at your wedding,” Yann says innocently.

“Not a fucking chance,” Lucas retorts, and it seems to be taking Yann by surprise. His best friend shoots him an offended look. “I need you to be my best man, c’mon.”

Well, officially, it’s not the exact reason he’s not willing to have his best friend officiate. The real reason is that he doesn’t want to give any of the boys the opportunity to make him want to crawl into a fucking hole on his wedding day. It’s not like they’ve been talking about a big wedding with hundreds of guests, but if he can avoid taking the risk, you can bet he will try.

(Also, he _knows_ he’s going to cry.)

(But, like, he’s going to cry even harder if it comes from Yann.)

(So, yeah. No. Not a fucking chance.)

Yann heaves a sigh, faking annoyance. “Fine,” he drawls, “I’ll stick to your bachelor party.”

Lucas rolls his eyes. Now is probably not the right time to tell him that Eliott and him have been talking about a joined party with nothing big — probably a few drinks at a bar. Yann turns left and soon Lucas recognizes the neighborhood where his new apartment complex is located.

From memory, it’s a little further down, right across from a laundromat. There are a few stores here and there, a tattoo parlor and a flower shop as well, from what Lucas recalls of their very first visit a month ago. The street seems much less animated that the flatshare neighborhood, but it went on the plus column right away. Lucas and Arthur might have the two biggest rooms back home — well, back at the boys’ — but at the cost of peaceful nights, thanks to a particularly lively bus stop at the foot of their building. He cannot begin to count how many hours of sleep he’s lost, when they all moved in together eight years ago.

“Hey,” Lucas says, just as Yann stops the car at the foot of Lucas’ new building, double-parking for lack of a better spot. “Thank you. For, like, not saying proposing was stupid.”

“Why would I?” Yann asks, honestly.

Lucas pulls a face. “My dad didn’t embarrass himself with that,” he points out sarcastically. “And I can’t say my mom’s thrilled either.”

Though at least he can tell himself that his mom cares about him, genuinely, where his dad is just plain not buying the gay wedding in the first place. For all he knows he could have been dating Eliott for ten years and he’d still manage to come up with reasons why marrying him is perhaps not the right choice.

Yann snorts. “Bro,” he says, “you met Eliott on an island _thirteen thousand kilometers_ away from here, bumped into him every single day we were there, and then he literally handed you your suitcase at the airport.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s in store for you guys, but fate’s definitely on it.”

*

To be fair, love at first sight had never been Lucas’ favorite ‘what if’ scenario.

Hypothetically speaking, finding the man he would get to spend his life with (assuming he even existed) always, _always_ included a long (and slightly tedious) string of dates, lots of ‘learning to know each other’, lengthy conversations and compromises that would, maybe, _someday_ , lead to something nice.

If he really was lucky (which he frankly doubted), perhaps that man would even be the one he’d spend his life with — or most of it, at least.

But then, he had met the hottest guy on this fucking planet. With the most incredible eyes he’d ever seen and one of those bodies that Hollister models had back in the days — and this guy, this _perfect guy_ , had turned out to be the softest and most caring person in the world, with just enough silliness and recklessness to make everything simultaneously endearing and exciting. Of course maybe Lucas would have enjoyed way more peaceful vacations if he hadn’t turned bright red and started drooling every time he happened to cross path with him in Bali, but even the slightest glance or smile was enough to keep the boys busy roasting him for the rest of the day, and chances are that it would have all probably remained an embarrassing memory, if it hadn’t been for their last night there.

They had gone to some club opening that Baz had gotten flyers for on the beach, with the promise of getting a round of free drinks there. A solid plan, really, except that to this day Lucas still has no idea what was in the drink he got, but _boy_ it made his head spin. Halfway through the evening he was forced to leave the club to get some fresh air, only for him to pull the wrong door and end up in a dark alleyway at the back of the club, by the trashcans. At this point there was only a very slim chance for him to still get something other than a headache from this night, but he might have done something right in another universe, like pushing a stroller away from a bus or something, because there was someone else there, and it wasn’t a fucking creep.

Or if he was a creep, it was a very weird one, even by other creeps’ standards.

A regular creep would probably not walk around with what seemed to be a professional photography camera, only to use it on a Saturday night, outside of a club, to snap a shot of a fucking neon-light.

“I swear, I’m not following you,” the hot guy had said, sounding a tad embarrassed as he lowered his camera.

“You sure about that?”, he had asked, feeling bold once past the initial shock.

The guy had snorted. “I mean, I was here first, so who’s following who?”

Lucas had huffed a laugh, desperately clinging to his sanity while the dim lights made wonders across his face and kept emphasizing his cheekbones in a manner that shouldn’t have been legal. “Dunno, I never had a stalker before, I don’t know what they look like or what they do in their free time.”

The guy had glanced down at his camera, before looking back up with a smirk. “Pretty sure most of their time is spent, you know, _stalking_.”

“Solid answer for someone who’s ‘not a stalker’,” Lucas had retorted.

Eliott had laughed, and run away with Lucas’ heart at the same time.

In the end it had taken an entire night of talking and wandering around the city together, an aborted and unintended one-night-stand (a long story) and fate eventually meddling in for the two them to never leave the other’s side again.

Well, at least, _figuratively_.

Which Lucas has figured out by now is the number one downside of being in a relationship with a travel photographer. Of course, the last thing he wants is to guilt Eliott to stay, so he tries his best to be optimistic. Enquire about his schedules and the things he’s planning out when he’s away, not whine too much about missing him, and surely not making him feel like his job is problematic.

“My ex used to do that,” Eliott had admitted once. “It was really hard, being told that what you enjoy doing most is a burden. I mean, if my mental health is already a burden, and that my job becomes a burden too, well that just means that everything about me is problematic. Makes you wonder why you’re like this. And then why you exist at all.”

Having his back-then-boyfriend snuggled in his arms, soft and sad, confiding something like that, had made Lucas realized a couple of things, the first of which being that he never, _ever_ wanted to make Eliott feel like anything about him was worthless.

Saturday afternoon comes and goes before Lucas can really process it.

Most of it is spent in a mess of screwdrivers and bubble-wrap, partially torn apart boxes and far too many instructions written in Swedish for Basile and Yann’s taste, while Arthur and Lucas are racking their brain to put back together Lucas’ bed. “How can you _not_ know, you’ve been sleeping in it for nearly a decade,” Arthur hisses in frustration halfway through the afternoon.

“You drive a car, do I ask you if you know how to fix it?”, Lucas yells back.

They only start figuring shit out towards the evening, when the guys abandon their beer and take pity on them. Lucas gets consistently yelled-out after he receives a few texts from Eliott, who tells him that his signal is far too crappy for them to be able to skype that evening — which, you know, kind of dampens his mood.

“I kinda feel like a sailor’s wife,” Lucas admits reluctantly on their way back to the flatshare. They still have to get the mattress all the way up to the third floor, but that will wait tomorrow morning.

“That would explain how shit you are at building things,” Basile observes unhelpfully.

Yann sneers. “If manhood is solely based on putting together Swedish furniture items, no wonder why humanity’s a lost cause.”

Next morning, Lucas wakes up to a selfie from Eliott. Which is the bare minimum, he thinks, when he’s spent the night on the couch of his soon-to-be-former apartment. _I love you from Kharagaouli_ is written on the snap and, alright, maybe Eliott looks tired, but he’s got the sweetest smile and he’s literally glowing. Lucas doesn’t have the time to open the chat that there’s another selfie coming his way. _Tonight, 17h for you?_ is written. He finds himself suddenly smiling brightly at his own phone. Last time they skyped was on Thursday night and he’s missing Eliott’s so much that he can barely tolerate it. He gets over his self-consciousness and snaps a selfie, not bothering to caption it. He’s got that stupid grin on, that should work as an answer, he guesses.

Judging by the established schedule that Eliott is roughly following, he’s got five more days in Georgia before flying back to France.

Really, it’s not the end of the world.

He can make it.

And so what if he gets a raging boner every time he so much as thinks about Eliott’s arms of all things? It’s only natural, he’s been alone for over ten days, in the course of which he’s had to deal with Basile’s thoughtful comments on how he could never get through a whole week without sex — to what Arthur invariably replies that he’s made do with it for twenty years, and that’s generally the beginning of an argument that Lucas is too tired to bother listening, let alone playing referee. The upside of being busy as he is, is that he’s got an entire car filled with boxes to unpack — and that’s exactly how goes his Sunday.

He barely has a second to himself until the clock hits 16h30, and he has to shoo the boys out of the apartment, before he sprints back to the living room and takes out his laptop from its bag. There’s a slight shiver in his fingers as he enters his password and waits for the well-known Skype ringtone. Still, he might have been the readiest he’s ever been, his heart still jerks in his chest when the screen darkens, announcing the call, and he nearly trips over himself in his hast to accept it.

“Hi!”, Lucas and Eliott say at the same time, as soon as Skype allows them to. He’d be slightly self-conscious about the way his voice is trembling from excitement if Eliott’s wasn’t sounding just as enthusiastic.

“Hey there,” Eliott says again, eyes-crinkling in a blinding smile. Fuck he’s so beautiful, Lucas could cry. He’s got a five o’clock shadow and his hair looks so good that Lucas’ hands are literally itching to run his fingers through it. That man will be the death of him someday, but if he’s got an option in the way he dies, he’d much rather be killed in person than through Skype. “How are things going at home?”

Lucas throws a quick glance above his computer screen. The living room is still empty for the most part, and he hasn’t found the courage just yet to unpack the books and DVD and videogames sitting in the boxes piled up at the door. “I’m not sure we can call it a ‘home’ just yet, but it’s definitely getting somewhere,” he promises with a grin, kicking a box away while Eliott adjusts his laptop distractedly.

“I’m so sorry I left you to handle everything,” Eliott apologizes, sheepish, smile dropping and shoulders slightly hunching forward.

“No, don’t be,” Lucas protests. “It’s okay, I had the guys to help anyway. It’s all good.” Well, technically he’s managing because he doesn’t have the choice, but he’d rather lose an arm than make Eliott feel guilty about leaving for his job. So, like, everything is better than sad-looking Eliott. Even moving in by himself instead of being the two of them. Eliott doesn’t seem much convinced and Lucas decides to change the subject. “What about you?”

Eliott takes a second to decipher whether or not he leaves it at that, but then he’s smiling again and Lucas’ world just becomes all colors and fireworks again. “Everything’s going great, actually I’ll be going out soon to take some sunset pics. Yesterday everything was pink and purple, you should have seen it!”

Lucas smiles fondly. He’s never seen a grown man so excited about colors, yet wearing so much black. It’s the kind of contrasts that he lives for, to be honest. “Don’t do anything reckless though, okay?”

“Yes,” Eliott grins innocently, “I promise. I’ll just follow the hiking trail for a while, it’s really no big deal.”

Lucas gives him a look. “You said that too last time,” he deadpans, “and oh, surprise! your pics told a very, _very_ different story.”

He’s barely exaggerating.

Eliott likes a little challenge, and like other stupid travel photographers of his kind, there’s not a stupid mountain or stupid snowstorm that will stop him if he has decided otherwise. Honestly, he feels like he should have known that before falling for him so hard, at the beginning. The first time they really talked Eliott only mentioned photographing cool places and dorky things like neon-lights. _Not goddamn fjords_ and whatnots. People should wear pins with vital information on them, so that others don’t get tricked into nerve-wracking situations. Like _, Xavier, 26yo, homophobic asshole. Lola, 21 yo, frequently cheats on her partners. Elodie, 35yo, likes swimming with sharks. Eliott, 27yo, would die for a stupid picture of a volcano._ It’s not even like Lucas hasn’t tried to get him to travel more safely before, and Eliott even _promised_ — only for him to go to Armenia for a week last spring, and come back with stupidly beautiful shots taken from a fucking crumbling tower in some fucking crumbling monastery lost in the fucking countryside.

“Believe it or not but I’m not planning everything. Some things just happen on a spur of the moment,” Eliott objects. He’s not denying though. Great, so Lucas still has a couple more nights to spend wide-awake, hoping for his fiancé to remember the most basic safety rules — good to know.

Lucas hums in response, not convinced. “What’s the program for tomorrow?”

“I’ll probably try to grab a bus for Oureki,” Eliott says. “I want to snap a couple of shots from the sea before I leave. Fingers crossed for the weather to work out.”

“Yeah. Fingers crossed.”

There’s a short silence and Lucas feels something digging in his chest. He should be used to Eliott leaving by now. After all there’s been Armenia and Azerbaijan before, and that week in Iceland. But he can’t help it; every now and then there’s a pang in his chest, and he wonders if it’s all going to end someday.

“I miss you so fucking much,” Eliott says. Around him the room has darkened a little already, and his eyes look different when they are black instead of their usual stormy-grey color. It gives them a different shape, almost almond.

“I miss you too,” Lucas replies with a soft smile. “Now go take some pics of that damn sunset so I can see some colors too. Paris is still as grey as ever.”

Eliott laughs, making his laptop sway a little. “Alright. I love you.”

“I love you,” he says, blowing a kiss to the screen before the call ends.


	3. Chapter 3

Another boring meeting, another boring morning, another boring _everything_ , he thinks begrudgingly as he and the rest of those sitting around the large conference table stand up. All the chairs quietly rattle simultaneously on the navy blue carpet, everyone picking up folders and scarves and coats in a concert of whispered-conversations. If he’s being honest, the moment he has to step behind the marketing manager, Mika, to reach the glass-doors of the conference room is always a little kick of adrenaline that forces him to keep his head low before he can get the fuck out.

It’s not exactly that he isn’t supposed to be here, because technically he _was_ sent here _,_ it’s just that no one, absolutely _no one_ in his department should even be a part of a marketing meeting. He’s an assistant data analyst, period. And yet here he is. Simply because a bunch of desperate assholes on the 16th floor have decided that it was an interesting strategy to force data analysts to care about marketing crises. Will it make things better? Fuck no. ÉNYO®, their stupid company, has been going through a rough patch for years ever since people started complaining about the catchphrase _Destroy ‘em all_ and the supposedly ‘aggressive’ and ‘unsportly behavior inducing’ values it conveyed. It wouldn’t have been a problem if people had minded their business and not started believing that it meant you’re supposed to kick your opponents and physically destroy everyone standing in your way. As far as Lucas is concerned, it just meant you can easily take down all the obstacles if you happened to buy a 45,99€ pair of sneakers with neon-colored shoelaces, but who’s he to say, uh?

“Lucas, wait,” a voice calls out as he’s heading down the hall, and he turns back to find Manon waving at him.

She shuffles her way closer, politely nodding at some of her colleagues as she does, and he takes a step back to wait. It’s the least he can do, considering she’s the only one from the marketing team who would give him the time of the day — not that even his very own boss would. They’d both met the day they got interviewed for their respective job, and they had started chatting to diffuse the tension as they were waiting for the HR to move.

She comically widens her eyes as she arrives near him and they resume walking. “God I thought this would never end,” she sighs. “What were you doing in there?”

A normal person would have texted, but Manon had been forced to sit three chairs away from her manager, and Lucas could understand that pissing him off more than he already was (something marketing related, he really doesn’t care enough to listen) wasn’t really her plans for the day.

“Apparently I’m useless enough that no one notices if I’m there or not,” he grumbles, tucking a bright (and empty) green folder under his arm before shoving his hands into his pockets. “Imane’s words. Not mine.”

Manon grunts noncommittally. “Yeah, she’s been a tad snappy at home too,” she admits with a frown. “Too much work to see her boyfriend and all.”

“Well she’s not the only one who isn’t getting any,” he huffs as they follow Manon’s coworkers.

_Doesn’t mean I’m treating people like shit._ Granted Imane isn’t the worst. She’s literally far, far from being the worst. But she’s a junior analyst, so technically she’s his direct superior, and _technically_ he gets to spend most of his time in direct access with her. One would think that being friend with your superior’s roommate would be fun, but apparently it’s not, and either Lucas is really bad at getting his way or Imane really hates him to pieces — which isn’t fair because he’s never done anything wrong.

(And, okay, maybe he thought at first that Manon and Imane were dating.)

(And maybe he brought it up once in a conversation.)

(So what? He makes mistakes, he’s human, sue him.)

They’re nearing an intersection when Manon’s hand shoots up and grabs him by the arm. “You know what? Let’s go grab a coffee.”

His pace falters and he stares at her like a second head has popped on her shoulder. “What? Right now? I can’t do that.”

“It’s fine, I promise!” she insists. “C’mon, it’s gonna be quick. And you really could use a caffeine boost.” She’s already pulling him into the opposite direction that her colleagues are taking when he mutters a ‘fine, okay’.

If he gets fired the coffee better be good, he thinks darkly. They push past a double glass-door to reach another hall, and then turn left to enter a surprisingly deserted staff room. Manon immediately motions to the kitchen area and the coffee pot, while Lucas is retrieving two cups from a cupboard. If they’re quick enough he might even get back in time at his desk to avoid getting yelled at. 

“When is Eliott supposed to come back again?” Manon enquires, pouring coffee into their cups. She’s barely put the coffee pot back and immediately reaches for her phone to rapidly discard an email notification.

She’s always doing that — multitasking. Whenever they’re stuck in a meeting together, he’s always stunned to see how many things she can do with only two hands and half a brain (the other half being generally dedicated to a random chitchat with him). If she’s not busy reviewing some notes for an intervention later, while simultaneously opening an email on her iPad from one hand and holding her hair back halfway through her hairdo from the other and enquiring about your weekend all at the same time, it’s because she’s sick.

“This weekend,” he says, picking up his coffee mug. “I’m _this_ close to boarding a flight.”

Not that he can. As it is, he doesn’t even know where Eliott is spending the night. Sometimes he wonders if his fiancé just doesn’t do that on purpose — keeping him a little in the dark — just because he’s genuinely concerned Lucas might drop everything and take the next plane for whatever country he’s in at the moment. (Which is ironic, because between the two Eliott is a serious flight-risk.)

He mechanically reaches for his phone and wipes the screen on his jeans.

It’s been four days since he’s moved to his new flat and well- it’s a little lonely so far. Not to mention that a whole bunch of things are still sitting in their boxes or plastic bags. Every time he comes back from work he’s just too lazy to start unpacking, so getting ready in the morning has become a real marathon.

It’s not the longest Eliott's been gone ever since they've gotten together, but it comes close. Usually he makes a point of not staying more than ten days in the same geographic area, otherwise he says he’s losing his time. _There’s so much to see_ , he told him once, eyes sparkling with excitement. And yet. Lucas guesses it’s because Georgia is small, and Eliott can travel from East to West and North to South if he only stretches his stay a little. But _boy_ does he miss him. Last night he ended up watching the pilot of _The Walking Dead_ and involuntarily starting a rerun, after Eliott lost his 4G signal halfway through sexting. 

(Really, he’s living his best life.)

“Any special plans for when he comes back?”

He takes a sip from his mug, but it sends tingles down his throat and draws a small wince on his face. Probably not the smartest idea, he figures, but _oh well_. “Not really,” he shrugs. “Maybe standing together under the same roof, that could be interesting,” he snickers, but it comes out a tad bitter.

“No, I meant, special treat.”

He glances up, only to find Manon broadly grinning at him with a conspirator look on her face. “Okay, so we _really_ need to find you someone.”

She elbows him in the ribs, setting her phone down on the counter. “I’m fine on my own. Celibacy isn’t a disease, I’ll let you know.”

“Maybe but your horniness is showing,” he deadpans. “I’m sure we can find some startup guy who…” He pauses halfway when he meets Manon’s unimpressed expression. “Or maybe not.”

Charles. Shit. He needs to backtrack as soon as possible. Last year Manon had a fling with some startup dumbass and it ended up with a broken heart and far too many drinks for Lucas’ liver’s taste to make up for it. They weren’t exactly in a relationship but apparently he led her on enough for her to believe it could be happening someday only for her to discover he was already married — the horror. 

“Startup guys are all the same anyway, I’m gonna pass,” she shrugs, taking a sip of her coffee. “Oh, by the way, I saw Alex the other day.”

It’s said innocently, but Lucas knows better. He also knows he’s walking right into it when he squints at her, nose in his mug. “Alex? Gym Alex?” he scoffs. “That’s who you want to get it on with?”

She cocks an eyebrow defiantly. “Are you jealous?”

He rolls his eyes and takes another sip. “Fuck you, I’m literally _engaged_ ,” he retorts. If he had a ring, now would be the right moment for him to wave it in front of her eyes, just to make his point crossed. “Alex was just-”

“A crush?”, Manon supplies unhelpfully, and it earns her a scowl.

“It was just about admiring the view,” he counters. So what? Between the moment his ex dumped him and the moment he met Eliott, he had taken the habit to work out during his lunch-breaks, hitting the gym located in their building a couple of floors down. And yes, Alex was a regular, and yes he was cute, and yes he was nice, and yes maybe Lucas started coincidentally going over there on the same hours he was sure to find him here, and yes, maybe, a little, he was daydreaming about it. It never went beyond that and Manon _knows_. “And now I have Eliott anyway and trust me there’s no room for comparison. If you want to get it on with Alex, just go ahead, you’ve got my blessing.”

Manon is just about to reply when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he scrambles for it hurriedly. The caller ID reads _Imane._ Shit. No. Now it’s getting serious. He hastily sets his mug onto the counter.

“Where are you?” Imane asks impatiently as soon as he picks up. “I need the new numbers!”

He blinks once, taken aback. “The numbers,” he repeats flatly, and Manon gestures at him interrogatively. What the heck is that again? He’s a fucking data analyst, his entire _life_ revolves around numbers!

On the other end of the line, he can practically hear Imane boil. “Yes, those from the marketing meeting! Guillaume wants the new numbers,” she hammers, “do you have them or _not_?”

It’s a fucking nightmare. No one told him he was supposed to do shit in this meeting? She literally kicked him out this morning because he was ‘gonna get late’, and his boss Guillaume had simply sneered that ‘Lucas, if the marketing department has nothing better to do than pulling meeting after meeting, good for them, but I’ve got more important things to do.’ It doesn’t exactly transpire a ‘you are on a fucking mission to get numbers’ kind of energy!

Fuck if he doesn’t find a way to get those he’s screwed, it’s taken him _three months_ to stop going at the-

Manon gestures in front of his eyes. “Just go, I’ll send them to you,” she whispers, and he nods slowly, still not sure of what’s going on. “Go!”

“Lucas!” Imane hisses.

“I’m on my way! Right now,” he stutters immediately, and he barely has time to mouth a quiet ‘thank you’ to Manon before he’s running outside of the staff room.

*

Dragging himself grocery-shopping right after work was really not on the shortlist of things Lucas dreamily thought about all day long, but here he is anyway. Being a functional adult. Sort of. It’s not like he’s got another choice if he doesn’t want to starve to death in his new, half-furnished flat. He’s progressing through the fruit and vegetable section at a snail’s pace, trying to avoid desperate moms and their progeniture who seem to have invaded every single corner of the supermarket.

So that’s what he gets for living in a ‘residential area’, uh?

_Fucking hell._

At least the supermarket he’s had his habits in with the boys was a lot quieter. And things actually made sense, he thinks, frustrated, after his third attempts to find toothpaste ends up with him surrounded by a sea of canned tuna. Does he really have to go through this? Hasn’t he suffered enough? The only reason he didn’t throw himself out the window during lunch break was- oh, right, _he didn’t have a lunch break_ , because Guillaume had dropped a shit ton of papers on his desk and he had to sort them alphabetically before 13h. He didn’t get a fucking bac+5 to sort stuff in alphabetical order, _for fuck’s sake_.

The sounds of two kids yelling and running make their way to his ears, and Lucas cringes internally — and maybe externally too, now that he thinks about it. He’s trying to remember what he needs to buy first and foremost before he can beeline out of this hell place when his phone vibrates in the pocket of his jacket. The screen reads _Yann_ as he glances at it.

(Which is great.)

(Awesome even.)

(It’s not like Yann ever needs to know that his first thought had been for Eliott.)

**hey what’s up??**

**work’s been kicking my ass**

**what did they do again**

**same old same old**

He briefly considers leaving it at that, but in the end he puts his shopping basket down between his feet and starts taping a more elaborated answer.

**i sorted files by alphabetical order**

**and that’s the most exciting shit i've done today**

**man that sucks**

**wanna hang out tonight?**

He hadn’t thought about asking anyone to come over, because he knows Yann’s paper is due by tomorrow night, and since his best friend hasn’t changed one bit since high school, it’s very, very unlikely that he’s even thought about getting around writing it yet. That being said, if he does end up having people tonight it means he needs to buy more stuff. Like, beer. And more food. He looks down at his basket, essentially filled by a couple of ready-made meals and a few other emergency supplies. He’s been so desperate to go home that he’d already made peace with not buying milk tonight, but turns out he might have to buy a pack of beer anyway. The answer arrives with a short delay, after the three little dots kept indicating that Yann had started typing, then stopped, then started again.

**i'm sorry bro i can’t**

**arthur threatened to cockblock us for a month if we haven’t found someone to replace you by the end of the week**

He snorts aloud despite himself. It’s Arthur’s favorite way of bullying them, and he’s literally not ashamed of anything, which includes, but isn’t limited to, pounding against the door of one’s bedroom while he very much _knows_ people are busy in there.

**god that bastard is good at it**

**😂😂 i swear i've never seen you so pressed**

He finds himself smiling despite the awkwardness of the memory. He had just started dating Eliott, what was he supposed to _do_? Politely ask his boyfriend of a week to patiently wait for his roommate to stop being a jerk before going back to fuck him deep and hard?

His phone lights up with another text.

**why don’t you come over?**

**the guys have been complaining about you ghosting the gc**

**plus, you’d get to pick the person who’ll deal with Baz next**

Technically, he’s not just ghosting. He’s been kind of busy, and Baz never shuts up, so that means that every time he’s got 5 minutes, there are like +300 new notifications waiting for him, and for the past few days they’ve been on and on and _on_ about reviewing profiles for roommates and stuff. And okay, he knows they need to do that and all, he just- okay, fine, it’s hard. It’s hard to tell himself that it’s over now. Someone is going to take his spot after eight years and it’s- well. It’s a bit difficult to imagine. The last thing he wants right now is to spend an entire evening browsing prospective roommates, and witnessing Basile desperately trying to find someone who would, somehow, match Arthur’s standards.

**nah maybe another night?**

**i'm beat, probably gonna go to sleep early and all**

**alright**

**you know the address in case you change your mind**

He doesn’t bother replying before pocketing his phone, snapping out of it long enough to grab a few more emergency supplies before going to pay instead. His way home is a bit of a blur, because he can’t really give a fuck about anyone. His quiet night home has turned into ‘i-can’t-wait-to-start-digging-into-my-nutella-jar-wearing-my-boyfriends-hoodie’ and that too, he doesn’t give a shit about it. Objectively he knows he should be dedicated to pulling his shit back together and stop complaining about his job, but it’s fucking hard. He’s got a brand new apartment, and a rent that went from three to four figures. Screwing it all is out of the question.

He reaches his third floor with relief, glancing absently at his neighbors’ door as he opens his own and drags his shopping bags inside. He hasn’t really heard of them since he got here. Everyone is so astonishingly quiet that it’s borderline creepy — and maybe a tad annoying. Like, do they really expect him to be this quiet his entire life? He’s not even sure Basile can spell the word ‘quiet’. And he’s spent eight years with the boys. While he’s reasonably able to keep a hold on himself, there’s no way it hasn’t-

There’s a clink, coming from somewhere in the apartment.

Just as he’s about to close the front door.

Coming from the kitchen, not a fucking doubt.

He frowns and closes the door. If he’s supposed to die tonight, with some sort of creep stealing keys and making copies and entering other people’s apartment, he couldn’t have come at a better time, he thinks darkly. A silhouette slides out from the kitchen, making his heart skip a beat and recoil a little.

Definitely _not_ a random creep.

“Hey,” Eliott says, and Lucas is frozen on the spot, in the fucking doorway, too stupefied to move.

“Hi,” he replies awkwardly, eyes probably wide as saucers. “What- How did you- I thought-”

_Well, good job Lallemant_. Maybe they’re right, when they say Nutella isn’t good for your long-term health. Maybe all that sugar and palm oil have damaged his brain already. _What are you doing here? How did you get the keys? I thought you weren’t going to be back until this weekend._ That’s what was supposed to come out, but nothing really makes it out the way he expected it to. 

_Oh, fuck it_. Nothing really matters right now. Eliott is there and he knows he should probably start by behaving like an adult and ask him about his trip and stuff but _he hasn’t seen him in two weeks._ Lucas’ feet surge forward (and the rest of his body too, he supposes), and he might be dramatic according to most people’s standards, but it’s not _his fault_ when every meter between them feels like his lungs are constricting from the lack of air. He jumps in Eliott’s arms, suddenly glad that they’re alone, and that the moment belongs to just the two of them. No loud friends making fun of them. No old lady eyeing them weirdly at the airport. It’s just them, and he swears his heart is bursting the moment his feet leave the ground and Eliott scoops him up. Lucas’ legs easily wind up around his waist, but his hands immediately settle on each side of Eliott’s face as he crashes their lips together.

Clingy? Not sexy? _Who the fuck cares_. The kiss is nearly bruising and definitely a little desperate, with teeth and tongues clashing, but that’s exactly what Lucas is — what they both are, judging by the way Eliott’s arms are crushing him in a vice grip. Everything in him chants _Eliott, Eliott, Eliott_ and the rest of the world fades out in the background.

“I’ve missed you,” Eliott mumbles between kisses, lips not leaving Lucas’.

“I haven’t,” Lucas says, fingers combing through Eliott’s hair, eventually gripping a little tighter at some strands. “Not one bit.”

Eliott huffs a laugh, pulling his face away just a little. “Alright, I guess I should just put you down then.”

“If you do that, I swear I’m gonna kill you.”

He squeezes his legs tighter around Eliott’s frame, cocking an eyebrow defiantly, and his fiancé replies with a playful hand groping his ass. _God I’ve missed you so much_. He doesn’t say it out loud, opting to bring their mouths together instead, and like every time it’s enough to knock the air out of his lungs and make his heartbeat skyrocket through the roof.

Maybe the day isn’t so bad after all.

*

Sex with Eliott is amazing.

It’s always been. It’s all fireworks and maddening caresses, and by far the greatest sex Lucas has ever had.

That being said, sex when Eliott comes back home is rarely… it.

Don’t get him wrong, it’s _good_. But it’s mostly sexy because it’s Eliott naked doing his thing, and most of it is just trying to make each other come — then cuddles. Disappointing? Not really. Does he mind? Not at all. They’ve learned not to make great plans for those first moments together. Sure, sometimes they will tease each other with great promises, generally after Eliott just landed in whatever country he’s visiting, but once he’s back they’re 17 and horny all over again. At first Lucas was feeling horrible about it. Not lasting, making it all embarrassingly quick and slightly underwhelming, it gave him the impression of not being… well, skilled enough, in a way, to make the experience worth it. But ever since there’s been Armenia, Iceland and… was it Albania or Montenegro? He’s lost count. Bottom line is, Eliott is often abroad, and Lucas is slowly learning not to base his perception of their sex-life on these moments alone.

Besides, his man isn’t just a dick. It’s not the _only_ part of him he misses when Eliott isn’t home. He misses his smile and his laugh, how his voice gets husky in the mornings and how Eliott holds his face when they kiss. He misses falling asleep to Eliott’s voice, in the middle of a conversation. He misses the warm touches and Eliott’s hands and-

“You know, if you really like doing this, I’m pretty sure you could change careers,” Eliott muses, a smile in his voice.

Lucas huffs a laugh from his spot, where’s he straddling the small of Eliott’s back. “I like doing it on you,” he says, his hands trying to work away the tension along his spine. Eliott rarely complains about his job, but Lucas can only guess that going on hikes with a backpack that weighs around 12kg must take a toll on his general physical condition at some point — the one time he tried to lift it up, he nearly broke his spine in two. “Not sure I’d like to do it on old, hairy people.”

The mere thought of it makes him shudder. _Gross_.

Eliott chuckles, eyes closed as he’s hugging his pillow. “We’ll all grow old and hairy eventually.”

Lucas’ hands still on their way up to Eliott’s shoulder-blades. “Wow,” he deadpans, “I really can’t wait to hear your wedding vows.”

Eliott’s laugh fills the room and makes Lucas’ heart grow ten times bigger. Is that even healthy at this point? He frankly doubts it. “You’d find a way to cry anyway,” Eliott teases, grinning.

God he resents the day he accepted that crying in front of the boys was a good idea. Thanks to them Eliott had already taken up that habit of teasing him even _before_ actually seeing him cry for the first time. What’s with the whole world bullying him?

“And whose fault would that be?”, Lucas scoffs. “Oh, wait, my husband announcing our imminent decay on our wedding day. Can’t believe people think you’re the romantic one.”

There’s a silence for a moment, and Lucas lets his hands wander down Eliott’s spine. He’s caressing more than he’s rubbing at this point, occasionally following the moles and the dips, but Eliott doesn’t seem to mind, rather the opposite. With his eyes closed and his features relaxed, he seems to have dozed off. Lucas contemplates climbing down to let him sleep when he calls out his name.

“Hm?”, he smiles distractedly.

Eliott doesn’t say anything at first, then he slowly blinks his eyes open. “I’ve decided to take a break.” He’s not looking at him, not directly — his eyes just seem lost in the distance.

“A break,” Lucas repeats flatly.

“From traveling,” Eliott says. His arms slide out from under his pillow and he pushes his waist up a little, peering above his shoulder. Lucas figures it’s not really a good way to make conversation so he climbs down to let him turn around. They settle together on their side, facing each other, and Eliott adjusts the sheets on them a little after propping himself up on an elbow. If Lucas didn’t know better he would think he’s buying some time — but he does know better right? Sometimes there’s a little hint of… adjustment, whenever Eliott comes home. It’s nothing big, really. It’s just in the little things. Like, the way everything sounds extra careful and extra polite, or the way they sometimes tiptoe around each other for a few hours, but it’s fine. Really. It’s nothing they can’t handle. And if anything, it always sinks in eventually and then everything just falls back right into place, like puzzle pieces.

“I need to take some time off,” Eliott elaborates, meeting Lucas’ eyes. “I’ve got lots of work to do on all the pictures from that year alone. They’ve got some potential, I think, I could sell more of them with the right editing and stuff.”

“Oh,” is all Lucas manages to utter. He tries not to fidget too much and to keep himself from playing with his hands, like he always does when he’s nervous. “So you’d stay in France?”

He’s really making a big effort here.

The only thing he wants to do right now is to jump Eliott and kiss him until they’re out of breath. _He’s staying_ , his brain is chanting. Fuck this is so stupid. It’s not like Eliott stops being in a relationship with him the minute he flies away. He tries to picture what it’d be like though, not to have to wonder how many weeks in a row he’ll be gone, or even if he’s safe and being careful. Not asking himself how things would turn if he’s having a low low and Lucas isn’t here to help. It’s not like he can do much about it when it happens, sometimes Eliott is just in a place where he needs to be left alone. But-

_Okay. Calm down._

“Yeah,” Eliott says. His hand settles on Lucas’ waist, absently tracing his hipbone with his thumb through the thin material of the sheets. “I mean, if there’s an interesting offer I’m not excluding another trip, but it would only be for a few days, and probably not thousands and thousands of kilometers away.” He averts his eyes for a moment, then looks back up. “I was so pumped about Georgia and then when I got to the first stop, I… I just wondered what the fuck I was doing.” He twists his lips a little, and Lucas has to remind himself he needs to fucking blink more often instead of focusing so much on every single one of Eliott’s facial expressions. “I mean, it was always hard being parted from you before, but never _this_ hard. And knowing that I had left you to deal with everything… I don’t know, it just made it worse.”

Eliott’s arm reaches around his waist and Lucas lets himself be pulled closer, until he’s so close he can his head rests on Eliott’s pillow. “It’s alright,” he manages to say. His hand trails up to Eliott’s face and his fingers absently trace the edge of his cheekbone, almost dreamily. He _knows_ Eliott misses him too. And to be fair he tells him fairly often, not like he’s being all asshole about it. But the words seem to hit differently. Harder. “It’s your job and I’m not going anywhere. Okay?” Eliott nods and Lucas smiles. “Plus, you’re here now.”

_It’s the only thing that matters_.

Lucas presses a gentle kiss on his lips, and Eliott pulls him in for another long one. When they part, he keeps running his fingers through Lucas’ hair and Lucas fights himself to keep calm about it. “You know what?” Eliott asks after a while. “I’ll make it up to you.” He’s about to ask what but Eliott vaguely gestures at the bedroom around them. “I know it was a pain to do everything and I want to make it up. All the paperwork for the wedding is on me.”

Lucas lets out a chuckle, but Eliott seems serious. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s boring as hell, we should just do that together.”

“No,” Eliott says, and he leans forward to press his lips to Lucas’ forehead. “I insist.”


	4. Chapter 4

“That one is super cute,” Lucas says, pointing at a picture in the top right corner of the screen.

“That one?”, Eliott asks with a laugh. He opens the files and a brown baby goat looking expectantly at the camera with her bright, deep brown eyes appears on screen.

Lucas awws aloud, resting his head on Eliott’s shoulder. That’s his favorite part of when Eliott gets back, after the initial outpour of ‘I missed you’/‘I missed you more’ that they get teased about. Being huddled up on the couch, going through Eliott’s pics to forget how shitty his day was — it’s been his silver lining all day long, knowing he’d come home to be with him. Once Lucas finally did, he couldn’t possibly get out of his clothes fast enough to put his favorite mismatched set of sweats on and join Eliott in the living-room. It’s been, what, an hour, two maybe, and he’s not anywhere near ready to get up and enquire about what they’re supposed to eat for dinner.

“She tried to eat my pants,” Eliott snorts, closing the picture, “don’t let yourself be fooled by the cute face.”

“She tried to _get into your pants_ ,” Lucas objects, “I don’t think I can blame her for that.”

Eliott glances at him. “It’s true you two have a lot in common.”

Lucas leans back, squinting his eyes and pursing his lips. “Are you saying I look like a Georgian baby goat?”, he deadpans.

Eliott outwardly laughs now, and, like, _rude_. “Well, there’s always a darker scheme behind the cute face.”

“Darker scheme,” Lucas scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Say I’m manipulative, go ahead.”

Eliott softens, his right hand leaving the pad of his laptop to wind up on Lucas’ knees. “Of course not,” he says, and he leans forward to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re just good at getting your way.”

He ponders whether or not he should ask Eliott to elaborate, but he decides against it and shuffles back closer while Eliott goes back to browsing through his pictures from various Georgian landscapes. Lucas has never felt so bad about his own prejudices than ever since he started dating Eliott. Had anyone asked Lucas to go on a trip to Azerbaijan or Croatia two years ago, he would have laughed right in your face. But ever since he’s met Eliott, and God knows he’d able to make a tree look sexy. A colorful countryside in the middle of summer? Easy peasy.

They keep reviewing a few pictures, with Eliott explaining stuff every now and then, and Lucas- well, Lucas drinks his every word. How could he not? When Eliott is looking so bubbly, with eyes bright and sparkly? Downright impossible.

“We should go over there someday during winter,” Eliott says, and Lucas is forced to snap out of it long enough to catch himself before he notices his mind has gone wandering somewhere else. “They have amazing fireworks to celebrate Christmas and the end of the year, that would be amazing to watch.”

“We don’t really have anything planned right now,” Lucas shrugs, and Eliott glances at him with a cocked eyebrow. “What?”

There’s a short silence, like Eliott is pondering what to say. Did he say something dumb? “I don’t know, I didn’t think you’d say yes right away,” Eliott admits.

Lucas snorts and rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, because I’m _such_ a boring guy, I never do anything on a spur of the moment.”

“I never said that,” Eliott protests with a light kick of his elbow. “That being said I’m also dying to go to Dubai. The greatest fireworks of the year all happen at the same time, it’s fucking unfair.” He pouts and Lucas chuckles to himself. “They’ve got a festival, in China, where they toss molten iron on the Great Wall, and it’s been like, a thing for five centuries?” He immediately turns back to his laptop. “I’m sure I can find a video, it’s so amazing, you’ve got to see that.”

He loads a YouTube page into his browser and starts typing furiously in the search bar, scanning the results with a concentrated frown on his face. _He’s such a dork_ , Lucas can’t help but think with a stupid smile on his face. And it’s right when Eliott makes a somewhat victorious sound that it sinks in. He’s going to marry that man. _Holy fucking shit_. Like, it’s stupid. It really is. He’s the one who proposed. He’s the one who bought a ring, that Eliott is currently _wearing_ , and he’s the one who’s been calling Eliott his fiancé ever since he said ‘yes’. But still, as stupid as it sounds, it’s like it’s only sinking _now_.

“We could get married,” Lucas hears himself saying, while the video loads, and Eliott snaps out of his rambling and looks at him in slight confusion.

It sounds like a question, and maybe it is, all in all.

In all fairness, Eliott has been home for barely a week and they’ve had plenty of, well, catching up to do, on top of unpacking the rest of their stuff, so setting a date hasn’t really been in their top-priority. The topic has only been propelled at the forefront of his mind because of the guys. They had been hanging out in their usual bar after work and the wedding had popped up in the conversation before Lucas even really noticed, courtesy to Basile and his amazing ideas.

“Baz, for the seventh time,” Lucas had been forced to say halfway through the evening, slowly putting his beer down, “we’re _not_ making a Marvel-DCU themed wedding.”

“I’m not asking you to arrive dressed as Batman,” Basile had scoffed. “I’m just talking about those funny pictures where the guys open their shirts and underneath-”

“You’re not opening your shirt at my wedding,” Lucas had cut him off. Not unless he’s drunk enough not to notice, that is, but he hadn’t wanted to sound like he was giving Basile a challenge.

The boys had cracked up in laughter, except for Baz, who had grumpily leaned back against the backrest of their booth. “It would have been fun,” he had mumbled in his drink.

Lucas had been forced to sneer. Oh, yeah. So much fun. Instead of dealing with crappy seating arrangements, he’d have to spend an entire month hearing everyone tearing each other apart for who gets to wear the Batman shirt. _So. Much. Fun._ It hadn’t seemed to be enough to deter Basile, who had eventually turned towards Eliott. “Eliott, you are a man of taste-”

“Are you fucking serious?”, Lucas had scoffed, and it had made Eliott chuckle next to him, his arm extended on the edge of their booth behind Lucas’ shoulders. 

“I’m sorry guys,” he had said, glancing at Lucas with a crooked smile. “I’m with my man on this one.”

Lucas had replied with a grin. And maybe he had swooned a little.

(Maybe. Just a little.)

“It will depend on your date anyway,” Yann had waved. “If you guys get married in June or in September, things will already be different.”

“True,” Lucas had admitted, running his fingers at the bottom of his beer bottle. “But we haven’t really decided on a date yet anyway.”

Arthur, Yann and Basile had all looked at them with a quirked brow.

“It’s my fault,” Eliott had said apologetically. “To be honest we’ve agreed on a small gathering since the beginning, so it’s not like we’re going to need a wedding planner for that either.”

And, well, Eliott was right. With his mom, a few family members on his side, the guys, a few other friends from school, surely Manon, it’s not like they’re going to exceed the number of guests allowed in whatever venue they will decide on. And, like Eliott had told the guys the night before, city halls in Paris didn’t save dates from one year to the next anyway, so even by taking the general population density into account, marrying during winter would clearly narrow down the number of weddings-

Okay, he’s spiraling. _Calm the fuck down_.

“On New Year’s Eve?”, Eliott asks, brow furrowing a little.

“Yeah?” He looks down and starts fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie. “I mean, we could get married on the 31 and start a new year together and stuff. Even a whole new decade, I don’t know.” Eliott is oddly quiet and Lucas huffs with a dismissive wave. “You know what, it’s dumb, the weather will be shitty and all and I’m not even sure we can-”

“Actually, I’d love that.” Lucas’ eyes snap up to him. The expression of quiet stupefaction has slipped off Eliott’s face, soon replaced a gentle smile that makes Lucas’ heart brutally expand in his chest.

As usual, he finds himself responding to it with a broad grin of his own. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Eliott chuckles. He pulls him closer, sliding an arm between his back and the couch until there’s not even a millimeter left between them. “I love you,” he whispers, and he presses a kiss onto Lucas’ lips to punctuate. “And I’d really, really love that.”

*

“So soon?”

It’s hardly a question, more of a statement, and Lucas forces himself to keep a peaceful expression despite his annoyance. “Yeah,” he replies simply.

His mom doesn’t say anything, her gaze drifting away in the distance instead. They’re sitting together on a bench, in the park located at the back of her living facility. It was supposed to be a bright and sunny day, but so far the clouds have been riding low and it’s as surprisingly chilly as the conversation is.

“Eliott and I have thought that it’d be a nice touch to start a new year together,” he adds, then pauses. “Well, married together, I mean.”

His mom is still silent, and for a moment Lucas thinks he should have told her over the phone. He calls her four times a week ever since she’s moved to Lille, and goes over there once every two weeks on Sundays. He genuinely thought it’d be better in person but now he’s starting to regret his choice. Maybe she’d have had the time to wrap her head around the idea otherwise. It’s old news that she isn’t particularly thrilled about him getting married, since she told him as much when he broke her the news last summer, so it’s not really like he’s expecting a torrent of congratulations for the date announcement.

Eventually she heaves a sigh. “I don’t know, Lucas. It seems really rushed,” she says, shaking her head. “Have you so much as looked into the wedding procedures? These things take time.”

“We did. It’s going to work out.”

She seems to ponder her next move and looks up to him after a moment. “I only want you to be happy. More than when you were living with us.”

Usually, the indirect kick in the balls to his crappy dad would make him smile, but right now he feels himself softening instead.

Most of his childhood has been spent doing whatever he wanted to do, whenever he wanted to, which sounds like a dream for any teenager in his rebellious phase but was really not for one who just wanted to have a normal life. No one really paid enough attention to set the rules for him. He smoked his first cigarette at eleven, and although he never really indulged in smoking until he turned sixteen (and, even then, not on a regular basis), no one was really there to smell his clothes when he came back from school like Yann’s mom did. No one grounded him either for being late for dinner or skipping curfew or being drunk, because it would have implied that his dad was even home by then, or even cared in the first place. At twelve he figured laundry wouldn’t do itself, and the first time he tried ironing resulted in the most painful experience of his life — to this day he still had a missing digital print on one his fingers.

In short, his entire childhood could be reduced to his dad venting his frustration far too loud in the street, overcooked or missing meals, far too much time spent out or in his bedroom, mood swings, the door of the bathroom upstairs always locked and people telling him that ‘his mother wasn’t well’ with conspirator looks that he never fully understood, but always contributed to fuel his resentment towards her regardless of the situation.

If he had to put it simply, it sucked. But then his dad filed for divorce, when he was in high school, and a situation he couldn’t possibly picture improving eventually did, a little bit out of the blue. After years of his dad calling her crazy, his mom had finally been diagnosed with a type of schizophrenia that explained, at last, why the world was supposed to be ending soon, why Lucas’ father would be judged, why she would suddenly say that the walls were red and dripping when they couldn’t be any whiter. Ever since she had been in and out of the hospital, different clinics, psychiatric wards and as far as Lucas can tell, things have been improving, slowly but steadily.

“Mom, he makes me happy,” he says, earnest. “I’ve never been happier than since I met him. It doesn’t mean I was never happy before or that I will never be unhappy in the future, but with him it just… it feels right, you know?”

The mere thought of his life with Eliott draws a smile on his face, and eventually his mom reciprocates, albeit a little tightly. “I just want you to be happy,” she says again. “That’s all I want, and I’m sure Eliott’s parents would want that too, don’t you think?”

“His parents aren’t really worth getting concerned about.” _That too we already discussed_ , he almost adds. Months ago, granted, but still.

“Alright,” she whispers, with that little hint of disappointment she has in her voice every time she’s trying to avoid a fight. Fuck maybe he shouldn’t have been so dismissive. He opens his mouth to apologize when she adds, looking back to him: “And your father?”

Lucas refrains an eye-roll, annoyance pouring onto him all over again. Thing is, he _did_ tell his dad, mostly because his mother pressured him to do so. He ended up telling him that he was getting married over text, his dad replied that it was nice, and that was left to that. He’s never been planning on telling him about the date anyway. What good would that bring? His father showing up unannounced? _Please_. “I’m not inviting him.”

She gives him a little frown, and it’s somewhat funny, because he knows it’s a face he often does too. “Don’t you think it’s rude?”

And there it is again, he almost grumbles. “You told me once that I can’t force people,” he says, trying to keep his tone steady and even, “that I should take them the way they are. Well he’s the one who won’t take me as I am. As far as I’m concerned, we’re both better apart,” he concludes.

The conversation with his mom drifts onto safer topics and small-talk about his job and her life in Lille, but it’s too late for Lucas’ brain to be relaxed. It’s not that he’s particularly neurotic about his father, or that _any_ mention of him riles him up, really, it’s just that his mom’s obsession to include him after all this time goes beyond his understanding. It brings out old thoughts from the time Lucas couldn’t understand her. How he failed time and time again to understand her thought process or how she’s feeling, how much time he lost hating her because of _him_. All of this keeps him company throughout the 18h44 train ride back to Paris.

A dad and his kid sit together across from the small retractable table, and he forces himself not to stare at them, putting his headphones on and pushing the volume of his music as high as his ears can take it.

*

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?”, Eliott enquires.

Lucas snorts, not even looking up. “I love you but you’d fail boiling water.”

He’s talking from experience. Aside from the fact that he’s positive Eliott doesn’t have a single valid taste bud left and that his recipes include stuff like bacon and blueberry baked together, on one occasion he came home to find an empty pot on the cooker and a disbelieved Eliott staring sheepishly at it. “I forgot I had put water to boil,” he had admitted. Of course he’s not mentioning the undercooked pasta, stuff that are simultaneously burned on the top and still frozen in the middle, and Eliott’s complete inability to successfully crack an egg — but it’s fine. Lucas doesn’t mind cooking for them. He doesn’t mind cooking at all, in fact. Usually Eliott tags along in the kitchen to chat with him, and ever since they moved in together in this apartment, he’s taken that habit to perch himself on the counter, next to the sink, his long legs dangling off the edge. That’s exactly how Lucas is picturing him right now, and he doesn’t even have to peer up to know he’s right.

“That’s a fair point, but right now I’m worried for that poor piece of meat,” Eliott says casually. This time Lucas tears his eyes away from the cutting board and gives him a quizzical glance. Eliott gestures from his chin. “If you feel like stabbing someone, I’m fine with it and I’m sure they deserve it, but that chicken didn’t ask for it.”

Okay maybe he’s been chopping those chicken breasts a little harshly, Lucas recognizes inwardly as he stares down at the tattered pieces of meat and the thin, white lines drawn by the knife in the cutting board. He lets out a groan and Eliott hops down the counter like a giant cat.

“If you want to talk I’m here,” he smiles, curling a gentle hand around his shoulder, and almost despite himself Lucas leans into the touch. “ _And_ I’m sure I could help if you’re there to watch me.”

Lucas lets out a chuckle and shakes his head. “Nah, it’s fine I promise.”

He opens a cupboard to retrieve a pan, setting it next to the wok already full of spicy rice. They wait in silence for a moment, Lucas busying himself without really putting too much thoughts in what he’s doing. He watches as the unlucky pieces of chicken fry, moving them around in the pan every now and then. Eliott isn’t pushy. He’s standing close, scrolling through his phone, either genuinely or simply faking being busy, and if Lucas wasn’t already totally gone for him, it’d go right in the plus column.

“It’s fine,” he eventually says again, not looking away from the pan. Funny how it’s always the prelude to him rambling ten reasons why he’s not, but he just can’t help it, it’s always what comes out first. “We just talked about my dad and I wish we didn’t have to, is all.”

“She asked if he’d be at the wedding?” Eliott guesses, and Lucas nods, reaching for a bowl of chopped red pepper that he empties in the pan.

It’s not even like his father would actually be _disappointed_ about not being invited. For all Lucas knows, if he ever smacks his head hard enough on the pavement to decide it’s a good idea, they’d both be incredibly uncomfortable the whole day, and Lucas has other plans for his wedding-day than to worry about his dad snorting a tad too loud during the vows — assuming he wouldn’t have made up a bullshit excuse not to come at all in the first place.

“Is it too much to ask people to have a homophobe-free wedding?”, Lucas growls, scowling at the pan.

“Of course not,” Eliott smiles softly.

It’s useless to elaborate anyway, Lucas figures. It’s not like Eliott doesn’t know already how it all feels.

“You know what the worst part is?”, he says again, turning to him. “I’m genuinely trying to be positive. I’m trying not to upset her, I’m trying to keep negative vibes away, not to burst, but it’s freaking hard when thinking about him makes me wanna punch a wall.” He shakes his head and grabs a wooden spoon to stir the content of the wok. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“There’s protecting her from something that could affect her, and protecting her from something that will upset her anyway, regardless of your behavior,” Eliott points out. Lucas gives him an absent look. “It’s not because you’re trying to always be positive that she won’t be upset about something later on that day. I know you, and I know you won’t burst. Just because you’re contradicting her doesn’t mean she’ll get a psychotic episode tonight.”

Lucas hums, looking at the cooker absently. Objectively he knows Eliott is right. It’s just that he spent so long being mad at her that it feels like he’ll never be able to exceed that amount of unfairness and pain he used to cause, because of one single man refusing to acknowledge the truth as it was. Two arms slide around his shoulders from behind, and Lucas blinks, smiling a little as Eliott pulls him close.

“Lucas Lallemant, you’re the best son anyone could ask for,” Eliott whispers to his ear, before pressing a kiss to his temple.

Lucas grins, a little brighter, and he relaxes into Eliott’s arms, dropping a kiss on his wrist. “Is that the moment you develop a weird daddy kink?”, he doesn’t resist asking.

Immediately Eliott releases him with a groan. “Do you have to ruin _everything_ all the time?” he complains.

This time Lucas laughs. “No, come back,” he protests, but Eliott is already leaving the kitchen.

“Not happening,” Eliott yells in response.

“Who’s going to help me get the recipe right?”

He hears something that sounds like an ‘asshole’ from the depths of the flat, but it’s too fond to worry him. Laughing quietly to himself, he grabs the pan and adds the (slightly overcooked, thank you Eliott) pepper and chicken to the rice waiting in the wok. For a second he’s too busy to realize Eliott’s phone, left hanging on the counter, has lit up. “El,” he calls out, taking a step away from the cooker, “your-”

The last couple of words die down in his throat. The screen, turned upside down, reads _Dad_. For a moment Lucas is too taken aback to even put the pan down, but before he even has the time to think about it, the call ends and probably goes straight to voicemail.

“You called me?” Eliott asks, sliding in the kitchen with a cocked eyebrow, while Lucas puts the pan down.

He blinks. “Yeah. Dinner is ready,” he hears himself saying.

*

Lucas has heard of Eliott’s parents on exactly three occasions, ever since they first met in Bali, back in 2018.

The first time had been a mention in passing, the very first night they spent hanging out together. They had been talking about anything and everything, and after Lucas mentioned the bad blood between him and his father, Eliott had nodded with a sympathetic look.

“Yeah”, he had said, “I know what it’s like.” And then he had added: “My parents didn’t take well my first relationship with a guy.”

The second mention had been during their first Christmas together. Lucas had been tiptoeing around ‘The Question’ for a while — would he leave Paris to spend some time with his parents and family? For a few years now Lucas had been spending December 25th with his mother in Lille, but the rest of the holiday was spent either alone or with his friends depending on their schedules, both professional and personal. The answer had arrived on a regular morning, before Lucas even mustered enough courage to ask.

“We could go ice-skating on Christmas Day,” Eliott had casually suggested, drawing curious looks from Basile, Arthur, Yann and Lucas. “Since we’re all in town, it could be fun.”

“No plans with the family?” Arthur had enquired.

Eliott had shrugged. “Nope. They have their thing and I’ve got mine.”

And that had been left to that, until after Lucas proposed. They had been laying in bed together, catching up on a few hours of sleep after their return from their second trip to Bali, when Eliott had told him, all by himself and a little bit out of the blue: “My parents won’t be at our wedding.” Lucas had blinked at him in confusion and Eliott had pulled him closer. “They wouldn’t understand and I don’t want them to make our day about themselves.”

Lucas had not questioned it. To this day, he still gets what Eliott had meant, and would never even catch himself dreaming about meeting the Demaurys; at this point he’s not sure he can afford to be disappointed in another set of parents that are supposed to like and care about him. It’s fairly easy to even forget that a baby Eliott didn’t simply pop up someday at a random place, fathered by some Greek god and their mortal lover — it’s actually one of Lucas’ favorite theories, because there’s no way someone like him could just be the product of two homophobic assholes, it wouldn’t be fair and it wouldn’t be right.

All of it leaves more questions than it brings answers though, particularly because Eliott doesn’t bring up the call. At all. At first, Lucas thinks he simply hasn’t seen it yet, courtesy to his fiancé not giving a heads up — which he feels mildly guilty about. When Eliott walks in the kitchen to help him gather plates and silverware for dinner, he simply grabs his phone and pockets it without really giving it much attention. It’s not until after dinner that he eventually checks it. Lucas is busy trying to load the second season of Brooklyn-Nine-Nine from one of his many hard-drives, but he can see Eliott unlocking his phone from his peripherical vision and going through a couple of notifications sitting unread. For a second he genuinely holds his breath. He’s expecting something, anything to happen, so much he can practically hear Eliott’s voice already.

_Hey, didn’t you see that-_

_So, something weird happened-_

_You were talking about your dad, well-_

And yet, nothing.

Eliott discards some notifications, including the one from his dad calling, and then he sets his phone on the coffee-table, screen down, without so much as a second of hesitation. Needless to say, Lucas doesn’t really pay much attention to what happens on screen for the rest of the evening. Which is slightly unfair, if you ask him, because Eliott seems perfectly chill while his brain is literally blowing up. Does it mean it happens frequently? So much that he’s used to his Dad’s caller ID on his phone? Maybe he’s talking from experience, but Lucas has never imagined that parents could be simultaneously against their child’s sexual preferences and still wanting to be a part of their life — something just doesn’t add up, but again, maybe it’s just _his_ dad being an asshole from start to finish. For two days he’s legitimately waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he seems like the only one, and bringing it up to Eliott now would just make him nosy and pushy.

In lack of a better thing to do, he simply stores the information in a corner of his brain and decides to forget about it, until and _unless_ it becomes relevant again. In his humble opinion, he’s totally nailing the ‘leaving some space’ yet ‘being attentive’ of a perfect spouse, although life getting in the way helps a great deal if he’s being honest. His boss asks him to stay late on the Monday and Thursday that immediately follow, and the second evening he comes home so late that Eliott has basically dozed off on the couch while watching one of those documentaries he usually loves so much. The rest of the week is a blur of numbers and crisis meetings in the marketing department again, and he’s so used to grab a simple sandwich at the bakery on the second floor of his work building that he nearly bumps head-first into Eliott as he’s making his way through the lobby, on one of his lunch breaks.

“What are you doing here?” Lucas asks, taken aback, when he catches sight of his man waiting nonchalantly near the reception.

Eliott grins, wide and bright and crinkly-eyed, and cups his face to give him a kiss that leaves a tingly sensation behind when he pulls away. “I just walked out the city hall,” he says, adjusting the shoulder-strap of his computer bag. “You know, to retrieve the marriage file.”

Lucas curses. “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot it was today,” he admits, wincing a little.

Eliott slides an arm behind his shoulders. “It’s fine, baby, I said I was going to take care of it all. Remember?”

“Yeah but-”

“No but,” Eliott decides, and alright, with that voice, he could get him to literally do _anything_. “How would you feel about grabbing lunch with me?”

Lucas considers it for a moment, but shakes his head, regretful. He wants nothing more than to spend some time with him, but he’s not sure his boss isn’t trying to kill him. The last thing he needs is to show up an hour later than the thirty little minutes he seems allowed to get. When he tells Eliott as much, his fiancé’s response is to grab him by the hand and to immediately start striding to the nearest flight of stairs despite Lucas’ protests.

“We could have taken the elevator at least,” he objects in a breathy laugh as they run down the stairs like madmen, Eliott still firmly holding his hand.

“14 floors, Lucas, 14! As many chances for people to try and get in and slow us on our way down.”

Well, he can’t argue with that logic, Lucas decides, and so they run down the stairs, one floor, two floors, five floors, until Lucas’ lungs are burning and he begs Eliott for them to catch an elevator at last. They venture in an unknown level in search for one. He has never wandered in that area of their building but judging by the large couches furnishing some kind of free-access open-space, Lucas guesses it’s not a big brand. People don’t even perk up on their presence, and they find an elevator not very far from what looks like a deserted front desk. The upside is that no one is trying to wriggle their way in before the doors roll closed.

“You’ll make me die of a heart attack before I’m 30,” Lucas notes bluntly as he hits the button.

Eliott starts laughing. “I always suggest we go running together but you never want to,” he points out, “what other option do I have?”

Lucas goes to elbow him in the ribs but Eliott takes a step away just in time. “I do run.”

“Treadmills don’t count.”

Assuming he even goes over there anymore. It’s not like Eliott needs to know he’s become lazy, right? “Fuck you,” Lucas protests. “I have my dignity. Have you seen your legs? Have you seen mine? Why would I go running with you if it’s to end up trailing behind like a dying puppy?” he scoffs. “Plus, last I heard you were not complaining about my abs and _that_ isn’t going to happen because of running.”

“It doesn’t happen with treadmills either.”

“No but it does happen with everything else around them.”

Eliott smirks. “You’re right, I’m not complaining,” he grins, waggling his eyebrows. Lucas huffs a laugh and steps into Eliott’s personal space, his fiancé’s hands naturally finding their way on Lucas’ ass.

“Cheeky,” Lucas deadpans, pecking him on the lips, once, twice, three times.

“Clingy,” Eliott concedes.

He’s about to answer when the elevator reaches the designated floor, doors rolling open forcing them apart reluctantly. They step out and make their way out in the street, and a chilly breeze reminds Lucas he’s only wearing a button-down. That’s what he gets for doing stuff of an impulse. Probably a cold for free. Eliott might be the love of his life but in terms of space-heating he’s generally on the receiving-end — Lucas always runs hot really fast, what can he say.

“Here, let’s try this one,” Eliott says, tugging at their joined hands just a few meters away from the revolving doors at the foot of Lucas’ building.

Lucas glances up to see an Italian restaurant he’s practically sure wasn’t even there two months ago — which is probably the last time he took notice of his surroundings. “Eliott, we’re already halfway through my lunch break,” he sighs. “My boss is going to kill me, I really-”

“All the more reasons for you to get something decent to eat,” Eliott insists as he pushes past the door.

Has he mentioned already that Eliott would probably get him to rob a bank someday? Yeah? Well it’s the fucking truth. The place seems pretty packed already, like 99% of the restaurants in Paris around lunch-time. He wonders if Eliott has so much as given it a thought beforehand, or if wandering around in the deserted Georgian countryside as gotten the best of him already. A waitress leaves a table nearby with a tray of empty glasses and comes their way, ponytail bouncing between her shoulder-blades.

“Table for two?”, she asks, then points at a table in a far corner, behind a large potted plant, after Eliott approved with a nod. “I’ll let you two sit and I’m getting back to you in a minute.”

“Can we hurry up though?” Eliott says. “My husband needs to get back to work in twenty minutes.”

_Oof_. Okay, maybe the world doesn’t stop for a second, and maybe he doesn’t actually skip a heartbeat, and maybe he’s just feeling hot all over because the place is overcrowded and maybe, just _maybe_ , he isn’t blushing extra-hard. _Maybe_. But the h-word rolling off Eliott’s tongue has such a ring to it that he misses the answer of the waitress, and lets Eliott drag him to their table.

“Husband, uh?” he manages to let out as they’re sitting down.

Eliott glances at him with a cocked eyebrow, then huffs a laugh. “Lucas, I literally have a marriage file with me as we speak.”

“I know, I know,” he says quickly. “Don’t make fun of me, I’m just adjusting.”

Eliott flips open a menu. “You’ll get used to it,” he says with a small shrug.

The waitress is back in a matter of seconds, so Lucas guesses that Eliott didn’t end up alienating her when he went all ‘hurry the fuck up bitch’ on her — nice to know. They quickly place their order, then Lucas enquires about Eliott’s appointment at the city hall, tearing apart a piece of bread to stop his stomach from gurgling. If he doesn’t have his plate in the next five to seven minutes he’s going to leave without eating anyway, so he better take advantage of what he’s offered now.

“Not much happened,” Eliott reassures him. “You haven’t missed anything specific, except maybe when I had to make my puppy eyes for them to hand me over the file. They just said that next time we get an appointment to return it we should come together so they can review things and confirm the date.”

“Alright. But you’ll tell me if you need me to complete it, right?”

His fiancé makes a face, a hint of annoyance flashing through his eyes. Mildly scary, if he’s being honest, but soon he snorts and shakes his head and Lucas breathes a little bit better. “It’s going to be fine, baby. Have a little faith in me, will you? I’m a functioning adult.”

Which… alright, he’s got a point, Lucas admits to himself. And he _does_ have faith in Eliott. It’s just- you know. It’s a whole thing he’s obsessed about — being in control. Not in an asshole that would somehow make the whole unreliable and literally anyone he knows unfit to take any decision _ever_ , it’s just that at least, when he’s the one in charge, he knows where things are headed. If they’re slowly and smoothly running their course or if they’re right about to slam face first into a wall. But he can trust Eliott. So everything is fine. 

The waitress returns with their plates a moment later, and Lucas immediately dives into his spaghettis with an eye glued on his phone to keep track of the time. It takes him a good minute to take his eyes away from his plate long enough to notice that Eliott hasn’t taken more than a bite or two from his own. Worse, his attention seems to have drifted somewhere else. “Eli?” he calls out, trying to make eye-contact.

“I’m sorry, please continue,” Eliott says, blinking a little as he’s visibly snapping out from his thoughts.

It would be endearing if he was actually speaking at all, but he graciously leaves that aside. He swallows down his mouthful of spaghettis and takes a sip of water. “You seem distracted. What’s going on?”

For a brief moment he thinks Eliott is going to deflect one way or another — but he stays silent a few seconds too long, and Lucas can see the wheels turning in his head. Eventually he puts his fork down. “Look, Lucas, I…” His voice trails off and he presses his lips together.

Uh-oh. A couple of unnecessary alarms set off in Lucas’ brain and he tries to keep himself reasonably calm, but he can’t mistake Eliott’s expression of concern for a prelude to good news. He literally has his face of ‘we need to talk’ moments and he feels himself tense. He should have known that all of this wasn’t a good omen.

Eliott takes a small inspiration. “I’ve received a job offer, for a trip abroad.” Lucas’ eyes widen a little and he immediately presses on: “It’s not going to be for long of course, just a few days. I know I’ve said I wanted to stop traveling for a while but-”

His grip tightens on his fork and it takes a huge deal of his will-power not to let it loudly crash against his plate. “When are you leaving?” he asks bluntly.

So that’s it. Eliott has managed to stay in France for three weeks and a half before it got on his nerves. It’s not like he’s upset- Well, no, screw that. He _is_ upset. That’s it. He’s fucking upset, and it’s getting really hard not to make a fuss about it.

“I haven’t given my answer yet,” Eliott says quickly, but since Lucas doesn’t say anything and is still staring at him, he finally elaborates. “Either next week or the one after that. I managed to narrow it down to five days, a travel agency I’m working for is launching a new promotional campaign and one of their privileged destinations is Ireland.” He reaches out for Lucas’ hand and Lucas makes a supreme effort not to pull it away before their fingers touch. “Baby I’m sorry, if you don’t want to be on your own, I can say no.”

_Of course I don’t want to be alone._ If he could he’d bring Eliott to work, and to hell with that ‘not being co-dependent’ bullshit. He’s never been dependent of anyone in his life, he’s never been able to rely on anyone, and he’s never even been really in love before meeting him, so all wrapped in a single person who can _not_ stop himself from running from one side of the world to the next? It’s both his chance and his curse. He’d willingly give up on about everything, if only for Eliott to actually _enjoy_ staying in the same geographic area as his own.

He squeezes Eliott’s fingers slightly to show that he isn’t pushing him away, and then he pulls away and tries to resume eating — but he isn’t really hungry anymore. “It’s just for five days,” he says, forcing a casual tone. “We’ve known more challenging.”

He keeps his eyes on his plate and starts digging into it, even though he already knows it will taste like ashes, but he can feel Eliott watching him so he forces himself to take a bite. Eventually, his fiancé pulls his hand away, leaning back against his chair. “Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

“Yes. It’s fine.” He swallows down his forkful of pasta, and sneaks a glance back to Eliott. “Just, one thing. Promise me you’ll be here on our wedding day, that’s all I’m asking.”

He was aiming for a joke but as the words roll off his tongue, he realizes there might actually be a genuine question in there, thrown in the middle. Not that he actually thinks Eliott would leave him hanging. It’s just that- you know. It’s always nice to hear a confirmation. If only to know that his fiancé will not barge in halfway through the ceremony.

A relieved smile brightens up Eliott’s face. “I promise,” he says, grinning still. “I love you, you have no idea.”

_You have no idea either_ , Lucas thinks, as he watches Eliott pick up his fork.

**Author's Note:**

> you can always find me on tumblr @demaury 💗


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